


Half Doomed and Semi-Sweet

by mitochondrials



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (who doesn't mind he/him pronouns), Alternate Universe - no superpowers, Cap_Ironman Holiday Gift Exchange 2016, First Meetings, Howard Stark (mentioned) - Freeform, Iron Man 2, Light Angst, M/M, Natasha Romanov (mentioned) - Freeform, Other, Pepper Potts (mentioned) - Freeform, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, SHIELD Agent Steve Rogers, nonbinary tony stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-09 12:50:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8891422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitochondrials/pseuds/mitochondrials
Summary: Cooperate Meetings are one thing (insert, Hell). A scheduled Meeting with Nick Fury, director of Tony Stark's least favorite cooperation of Spies? Talk about taking a left turn.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alphatabris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alphatabris/gifts).



> Title is based on lyrics from the song, "Disloyal Order of Water Buffaloes", by Fall Out Boy.

Tony hated meetings probably more than he hated Justin Hammer’s entire existence.

Excuse him, _conferences_ , as Pepper preferred to call them; the more appropriate, professional term, as it were. Because, you know, it was apparently the normal procedure for a certain, and very shady, organization of spies to directly delegate one of his dearest friends to coerce him out in the middle of nowhere on a nice summer afternoon instead of doing the much-needed repairs on his Audi like he wanted.

The universe knows it's barely been six months since the complete and utter shitstorm dubbed the Stane Fiasco. Just for once, he’d love a vacation. Maybe a day off to go visit the local Ben & Jerry’s, or have a Star Trek: The Original Series marathon while sipping on homemade hot cocoa.  Or, hell, better yet a nap consisting longer than thirty-five minutes.

No. Instead he was bracing himself for the worst _conference_ of his life inside this charming abandoned factory which, obviously, looked devoid of almost all life. Michael Myers was probably waiting on standby somewhere in a dark corning waiting to tear him to shreds.  

“Mr. Stark?” 

Tony jumped, swinging around to his right where the voice came from: an agent hidden in shadows. The irony was not lost on him (Shield agents, spies, shadows;  _Tony you should know better than to be shocked_ ). “Careful there," He muttered, grounding himself by adjusting his sunglasses. "It’s not like I have a heart condition or anything.” 

“Pardon me, I-” The agent, short and blonde, rushed to his side to make sure he was okay.

“I’m fine. I’m fine, We’re good. Relax.” He waved him them off, instantly irritated. 

“Or course,” They nodded, gently taking a step back. “Mr. Stark, uh, … Mx. Stark, I believe you prefer? There honestly wasn’t any proper specification, so I'm assuming ... ”

He snorted. “That sounds like Fury alright. I don’t think he’s ever called me prefix-anything … Well,” He gesticulated, vaguely, the idea.

“Fury’s definitely direct, if not rude.” Blondie-Tony decided to call them, said, their eyes wandering curiously over his form.

Tony was a go with the flow sorta person. He was also every bit as shameless as everyone claimed he was, thus unable to anything but pull down his sunglasses to give them a wink and strut across the room towards the low-lit hallway.

Blondie was silent a moment before saying, “The second door on the left, then, Mx. Stark.”

“Ah,” Tony wondered if Blondie was blushing. They came off the blushing type.

“Still insisting on flirting with my agents, I see.” The Devil-sorry, _Fury_ , said, effectively cutting off whatever Blondie was about to say next. 

“Have I not divulged how the sight of you makes my stomach so viciously quiver?” Tony said, turning towards the half open door, and unfortunately Fury, while resting the back of his hand on his forehead dramatically.

“Shit your ass down.” Fury huffed, signalling to the seat across from where he was riffling through various different colored files. “You’re lucky Agent Rogers here doesn’t seem to mind.”

“Sir,” Agent Rogers protested, following after through the doorway, the tips of their ears turning pink. “I’d think Mx. Stark might like some coffee?” They tried changing the subject, setting their jaw.

Tony really, really couldn’t help himself, giving Rogers a smile once comfortably sliding into his chair. “Aren’t you a delight. I’d love some.”

Also, to be fair, coffee sounded divine. Even if it was the standard lukewarm, office style coffee in a Styrofoam cup he expected it to be.

“Kinda cute, that one. I can only imagine what horrible things you’ve devised for them to do to me. Kinda question if I’d mind.” Tony said to Fury, tilting his head down so he could send Fury a nice, satisfying glare.

Fury simply smirked. _Ugh_. Talk about nightmare fuel. “Rogers insisted on briefing you on your status for the Avengers Initiative. It’s his play today, not mine.”

Tony quirked a brow. “I thought I told you I wasn’t interested in your little boy band.”

“Well, you could say I’ve always been interested in a challenge,” Rogers answered, appearing from behind Tony's chair, and smoothly set down the predicted Styrofoam cup on Tony’s side of the table. “Mx. Stark.” He smiled, keep eye contact with Tony as he politely took his own seat.

“Rogers has kept tabs on you for quite awhile. He was my original candidate over Agent Romanoff-” Fury said.

“-You mean, you preferred him to infiltrate my company, seduce me, did I mention, stab me in the neck?” Tony interrupted. "Always a comfort-"

“-He was too close to the situation.” Fury continued, completely ignoring him. “And would've blown his cover.”

“What he means is, “Rogers said next, trying not to glare at his boss, “One, I’ve never been properly trained to write a psychological analysis about anyone, and two, see,” He paused, facing his gaze down at the table and drawing his hands into his lap. “I … I worked with your father, Howard Stark, for a few years prior to my Shield initiation.”  

Tony reached for his coffee, suddenly feeling nauseous. So much for good things, especially cute, blonde things. “I can’t be shocked anymore. No, really. I mean,  I just recently learned my father lied about funding, organizing--whatever, heading, Shield in the first place. Had to be dying to hear about that one. And, oh, yes, don’t forget my …   _childhood friend_ , who've I've partially helped raise, has also been hiding they work as one of Shield's weaponized shadow lackeys. What a shock Howard'd never mention spending his valuable free time with some other kid while I was shoved off at boarding school?” He bit out.

Rogers winced. “That's fair." He hesitated. "Howard honestly never mentioned you, either, you should know.” _Hah, rub more salt in the wound, why don't you Rogers._ “I didn’t find out he even had a kid until the funeral. God, I was so fucking pissed."

Then he laughed bitterly," Why didn’t he want me to know about you, I thought to myself. He was my mentor for Christ's sake! ... I-I looked up to him, I shared details of my life because I thought we were close. Because he was my friend. Being able to look back on it all I think he didn’t want me to witness what a shitty father he actually was.”

“I couldn’t resist researching you.” He risked looking back up directly at Tony, where Tony was watching him from the corner of his eye, feigning amusement with the damned cup. “That sounds horrible, doesn’t? But, God, the things you’ve accomplished. You’re amazing.”

“Most people do, I can assure you,” Tony replied coolly.

“I know, …” Rogers' flush was starting to spread down his ears to across his face, trailing along his neck. “I know you hacked into the pentagon on a dare when you were thirteen, and that you built your first V8 engine when you were six.”

Tony blinked, “I was almost seven, not six.” He corrected. “And that, … that is borderline creepy. I might have to heed your ridiculous advice and stop flirting with anything that has a bird on it …” He addressed to Fury, who he hadn’t realized already left the room.

Typical.

“I’m sorry. It was pretty creepy,” Rogers said sheepishly, “Perhaps you’d feel better hearing Romanoff pretty much knows everything I do. It was sort of semi-required reading. And, hey, I didn’t even mention that I also know you were four when you made your first circuit board.”

“You’re not a delight. You’re not a delight at all! I take it back!” Tony gasped, daring to return Rogers' intense gaze. 

“Romanoff was hardly impressed, to say the least.” Now he was just being rude.

“We can’t all be trained assassins before high school graduation.” 

That made Rogers genuinely laugh, his eyes sparkling mischievously. “Sorta creepy, wouldn’t you say?”

Tony let himself crack a grin. “Touché.”

“Mx. Stark,” Rogers held out his hand, “Steve Rogers. As the Avengers Team Captain, I’d be honored if you changed your mind about the initiative. You’ve made many marvelous achievements, the most importantly handing the bad guy’s asses to them. You’re just what this team needs.”

“Team Captain, huh? I won’t blame you for not starting with that cause it doesn't sound remotely significant.  Not to mention I gather we're just ignoring whatever brilliant, overly detailed essay Ms. Romanoff bothered submitting your discretion?” He hesitated to shake Rogers hand, lingering over the folder headed by his full name and date of birth. 

“It was more for Fury’s benefit than mine. Romanoff claims you’re a loose cannon, but I’d argue you’ve got moxie. So what do you say?” Rogers wiggled his fingers, trying to be patient.

_Pushy. Tony might, or might not be a little into that._

He licked his lips, feeling tentative to answer. “The coffee’s uh, standard. Very standard. Not saying it’s not good.” He said instead.

Rogers sighed a little sadly. “Pretty standard coffee maker.” But he wasn’t deterred, moving his hand to grasp at his chin in contemplation. “Doubt it beats a fresh pot, though. Maybe add a nice, greasy burger to the mix?” He suggested hopefully.

“Mm,” Tony shook his head no. “What I'd want is a greasy cheeseburger with an ice cold Dr. Pepper and a fresh sliced dill pickle.”

“A dill pickle with a Dr. Pepper? That's sounds a bit unusual. I thought was pickles and a Coke.”

“Listen, I’ve just started to let this whole semi-stalkerish nightmare-slash-dream, sham of a so called conference or whatever the hell you want to call it go in favor of you taking me on a date.”

Rogers seemed more than pleased at that. “Steve.”

“What?”

“If I’m taking you on a date, I’d like to think I'd enjoy it better if you called me something other than Agent Rogers.”

“Steve,” Tony cooed, holding out his own hand across the table, his nausea turning into butterflies when Steve hastily reciprocated the offer. His hand was smaller than Tony’s own, but warm and slender. Elegant. “I’m all yours.”

And if he didn’t realize till Pepper was arguing with him about fraternization a day later what they’d actually done-which so happened to be an amazing lunch turned inconspicuously setting fire to some assholes Chevy against Steve's better judgement, AKA, the best evening of Tony's entire life. Well, what can he say? Turns out sometimes conferences really can have a fantastic outcome.

(You bet He’ll be holding it over her head five years later when, by some miracle of fate Steve gets down on one knee and asks Tony to marry him. It wouldn’t matter they’d be trapped decades in the future fighting a villainous time traveler while stuck hiding out with some kid that liked calling themselves Wiccan, leaving a worried sick Pepper in the present. Nope. No. Not at all.)

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays, alphatabris!! I hope you enjoyed. I had a such great time working on this. In fact I ended up plotting out a few different AU's, but this felt the most natural to write, so hey!
> 
> Also this hasn't been beta'd, so all mistakes are definitely mine.


End file.
